Carpe Diem
by pink-levicorpus
Summary: After the war Hermione pulls out of the wizarding world to pursue a normal muggle life. Things get complicated however when she recieves an unexpected visitor from her past. COMPLETE!
1. An Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Chapter One

Hermione had been having bad dreams again. They hadn't happened in a while; seven or eight years actually, give or take a few months. She had had them after the war for quite a while, but through time they had slowly ebbed from her conscious, gradually dissolving over the years. Now though, eight years after the war had ended, Hermione was again plagued by the disturbing dreams once more. They were painful to experience, physically just as much as mentally, and oftentimes she found herself being shaken awake by her fiancé, Andrew, a man to whom she had never recounted the stories of her past.

The last dream had been the worst, Hermione was positive. She had been on Hogwart's grounds and had been desperately searching for someone. She had called out over and over again, a name that, upon awakening, she could not seem to remember, but she remembered that despite all of her efforts, she had been unable to locate said person. What she did find however was much worse. She had walked all around the castle, the stillness and silence that permeated the air unnerving her both in her dream and also once she had woken up. In her dream she had seen a flash of red and had assumed that it was someone far ahead, waiting for her to join him. She had started running, only to have stumbled over something that lay across the ground. When she stood up she had realized that it was a person. Suddenly there were people all around her, all calling out to her. They were her friends, her teachers and classmates. Everyone she had ever loved surrounded her, slowly dying in a field of blood and bones. For all of her efforts she had lost everyone that she cared about. It was the worst victory she had ever felt.

Hermione had woken up in a cold sweat, Andrew by her side. He smoothed her hair away from her face, staring intently into her cool brown eyes. She had been shaking and he had held her until she had fallen back asleep. In the morning, he had politely suggested seeing a doctor to which she openly scoffed. No medications could erase the images and memories of the Great War. Voldemort had been killed, that was true, but at what price? Although Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley's had come out relatively unscathed Hermione had seen countless other classmates perish at the hands of ruthless deatheaters. There had been hundreds of casualties and many more unaccounted for. Even now, Hermione imagined, they still had not recovered many who had gone to war and never returned.

"Hermione Honey, are you alright in there?" Andrew's voice called from the living room. Hermione jumped at the sound, yanked back from her reveries. She realized that not only was the teapot screeching on the stove, but also that the scones she had grabbed to set on the tray were crumbled to bits by her clenched fists. Hermione sighed heavily, wondering how her life had come to this. Not that she was particularly unhappy with the situation—she loved Andrew and was excited by her upcoming nuptials—but a part of her felt so empty. After the war Hermione had resigned from the wizarding world completely, unable to forget the terrible losses that magic had caused her. She had neatly packed up all of her books and potions, her cloaks, even her wand. She moved back to muggle London and later, to a town in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. She had started life over again, cutting herself off from everyone in the wizarding community save for Harry and the Weasleys. She sent them the occasional letter and they had even paid her a visit shortly after she had become engaged to Andrew, but it wasn't the same. The Weasley's were unaccustomed to muggle post and, since Hermione had strictly forbidden owls, it had simply become easier to assume that she was doing well rather than write to her. At first Harry and Ron had been good at the letter-writing, diligently sending her notes every week about different wizarding reforms and advances they were making in the ministry. After a year or so though, the letters became less and less frequent until finally she received only about two a year. It was okay, Hermione told herself. After all, it had been her decision to cut herself off from the wizarding community.

"Hermione Honey, do you need help?" Andrew asked, poking his head into the kitchen. Hermione started, once again jolted back from her reveries. She blushed and looked at him.

"I'm fine Andrew, I just, I had some trouble with the scones. I'll be right out," Hermione assured him, forcing a weak smile. Andrew regarded her quizzically before nodding at her.

"Okay then, holler if you need anything," he remarked quietly, stepping back into the living room. Hermione cursed herself, reaching for the broom to sweep up the crumbs at her feet. Andrew was entertaining some friends from out of town and had been planning the visit for weeks. Why can't I remain normal for once? Hermione scolded herself, disposing of the crumbs. She sighed heavily, realizing that she had nothing to serve except for the tea. _If I just had my wand I could conjure up a tasty—no!_ Hermione forced the thought from her mind. Millions of people lived without magic their entire lives; she knew she could handle it too. She just had to be crafty. Reaching for the pantry Hermione scrutinized the contents. She had bread, cereal, dried pasta and jars of miscellaneous toppings. Hermione mentally kicked herself for not going shopping prior to the visit. The fridge didn't offer anything either save for a few various meats and several questionable vegetables.

"The tea alone will have to suffice," Hermione muttered to herself, carefully lifting the saucers and cups onto the large silver tray that Andrew's mother had given them as an early wedding present. It was beautiful but only aided to Hermione's self doubts. She hadn't even thought to have a tea tray, what else was she lacking? Needless to say, Hermione hadn't taken to domestic life very easily. It had taken hours in her mother's kitchen learning how to put even the simplest of meals together. She could barely keep the house clean either, what with all of the different cleaners, each specialized for a specific portion of the house; one for tile, one for carpet, one for mirrors and wood floors. She could barely keep them straight. Andrew of course had been patient through the learning process but Hermione could tell her lack of domestic ability was beginning to wear thin. Silently, Hermione resolved to try harder.

"Hermione, are you coming dear?" Andrew called, and, judging by his tone, Hermione guessed it wasn't the first time. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming out in frustration. _Damn these dreams_, she raged inwardly, _they have me in a tailspin! I can barely stay focused for one minute! _

"I'm coming Darling!" Hermione called back, smoothing down her skirt and blouse before setting the teapot onto the tray. With one quick glance out the window Hermione was able to smooth her frizzing hair, poking all loose strands into the tight braid that she had carefully constructed that morning. Then, with a determined sigh, Hermione grabbed the tea tray and spun around towards the kitchen door.

Several things happened as Hermione turned, all of which she would be unable to explain when Andrew questioned her later. The first was a loud snap that came with such power that it sent shivers racing through the house. The second was an all-too-familiar face smirking at Hermione from the doorway, and the third was the second loud crash of the day, caused by Hermione involuntarily dropping the entire tea tray, sending everything from the saucers and cups to the teapot itself crashing into a million pieces. Looking down at the shattered pieces at her feet, Hermione realized that she felt the same way.


	2. Old Friends

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Chapter 2

"Let me tell you Hermione that you are, by far, the hardest person to find. I searched the entire wizarding world before I even _thought_ of searching here." Hermione remained frozen, rooted to the spot by the door. All she could do was stare. _Why is he here? _She asked herself wildly, trying to form rational thoughts. It was no use. It was as if her brain had become molasses or taffy; there was a thickness that she just couldn't seem to penetrate. The boy (_technically he's a man now_, Hermione told herself, although in her mind he would always be a snarky schoolboy) was still smirking, his arms folded lazily across his chest. He looked good; she had to give him that, although exact details and specific aspects she could not seem to comprehend.

Andrew burst through the doors, no doubt driven by the multiple crashes, and nearly ran Hermione over. He glanced quickly from Hermione to the strange man to the broken China all over the floor, trying to make sense of it in his head. When he finally did get rational enough to string two congruent thoughts together, he immediately turned to Hermione. Clasping her limp arms he turned her to face him.

"Are you alright Sweetheart?" He asked firmly but all she could do was blink at him. After a minute or two she managed to a nod, a gesture that did little to calm Andrew's worries. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, gently turning away from Hermione to address the strange man in his kitchen. Andrew was stunned. He hadn't heard anything to alert him to the fact that someone else had shown up. No doorbell or knocking, he hadn't even heard Hermione let someone in!

"Draco," Hermione said suddenly, stepping forward. Andrew's head jerked back towards his fiancée, shocked by her sudden declaration.

"You know him?" Andrew asked incredulously. Hermione's attention however was locked solely on her former classmate.

"Draco, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, taking another step towards him. Draco watched Hermione curiously, wondering how she could have changed so much. It wasn't so much her physical features—she still looked as radiant as ever with her porcelain skin and long cinnamon mane—but more so her eyes. They were so…dull. As if all of the life had been drained out of them.

"I came to see you," Draco said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Hermione could hear it loud and clear though. She bit her lip.

"It's been eight years, Draco." The words fell heavily between the three adults although the negativity that Hermione felt should go with such a statement was simply not there. Draco merely shrugged, the smirk falling back across his face. He took a step towards her, his hands reaching out and then suddenly falling back at his sides as if he realized what he was about to do.

"I had a lot of things to clear up after the war," Draco said simply, leaning against the countertop. At this, Andrew stepped in.

"What exactly is going on here? What are you talking about?" He demanded, glancing back and forth between his fiancée and the stranger. Hermione jumped forth.

"Andrew, this is my old friend Draco from school. Draco, this is my fiancé Andrew." She said quickly, watching Draco for a reaction. She didn't know what she expected but the scarcely noticeable mouth twitch wasn't it. He stared at Andrew, sizing him up, before extending his hand.

"Draco Malfoy," he stated in a bored voice. Andrew met Draco's hand with his, exchanging a tight grip of salutation.

"Andrew Peterson." The two men glared at eachother, heat emanating from their glares. After a minute Hermione stepped in, fearing that flames would soon be bursting forth from their eyes and not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

"Draco, where are you staying?" Hermione asked, grabbing the broom to sweep up the mess. He regarded her quizzically, wondering why she was doing such meaningless manual labor.

"Why don't you just use your wand to fix that?" He asked as she cast a pitying glance at the broken teacups that she was tossing in the trash.

"I don't know what you're talking about, the broom works fine," Hermione said quickly, looking flustered.

"But if you would just let me—,"

"No!" Hermione shouted vehemently when she saw Draco's hand reaching for his wand. He froze, staring at her sharply. Then, he let his gaze slide over to Andrew and suddenly he knew. He knew why Hermione didn't want to use her wand. He knew why she was being so guarded about the past. He _knew_.

"Andrew Sweetheart, if you leave us alone for a minute I can whip up another batch of tea and sandwiches before Barbara and Dennis decide I'm the worst hostess ever and take off," Hermione said with a laugh. Andrew watched her curiously. He didn't like the idea of leaving her with the Draco fellow but he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't leave his friends in the living room—they had traveled all this way to see him! There was no getting around it; he had to return to the living room.

"Alright, if you're sure you'll be okay," Andrew began hesitantly, scanning Hermione to see if she was silently begging him for rescuing. She wasn't. In fact, her eyes seemed to be pushing him out as if she couldn't wait for him to leave. Andrew sighed, the gentlemen in him coming out. "Why don't you stay for dinner Draco, you must be tired from traveling." Draco said nothing; he had already been planning to stay anyway.

* * *

"It's not good to be starting a marriage based on lies." Draco said as soon as the door swung shut. Hermione turned around, her finger up to her lips.

"Will you keep quiet? Do you realize how close you just came to ruining five years of work?" She hissed, running her hand through her hair. It was beginning to frizz out around her temples, struggling to be released from the braid that Hermione had worked so hard at. She didn't like when her hair hung freely, frizzing up larger and larger by the minute—it reminded her too much of her school years.

"Don't you mean five years of _lies_ Granger?" Draco asked in a lazy drawl. She sighed in frustration, turning to face him.

"No I do _not _mean that. I have been completely open and honest about everything in my life with Andrew. We know everything about eachother." Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Draco raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Everything except the fact that you're a witch." Hermione winced visibly.

"Okay, so maybe we don't know _everything_," she admitted to a smug-looking Draco. "Hey, it worked for Seamus Finnigan's parents," she added defensively. When he continued to stare at her she brushed her hair back again and crossed her arms self consciously. "What are you doing here anyway?" She asked, her voice tinged with annoyance.

"What, no hello kiss? You seemed perfectly willing last time," Draco said as if lost in his memories. Hermione bristled.

"The circumstances were completely different. I thought we were—I thought we were the only ones left." Draco raised his eyebrows at Hermione's latest remark but he didn't miss a beat.

"So the only way you would agree to be with me is by default? If I were the only one left? Because I seem to remember several occasions during our seventh year when you were perfectly willing…." He commented as Hermione's protests rose.

"Draco, you have to be quiet! I don't want Andrew to hear you!" She snapped, glancing nervously to the door. Draco scoffed.

"Then put a damn silencing charm on the door, it's not like you don't have the ability!"

"It's different now!" Hermione shot back at him. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked suddenly, all playfulness in his tone giving way to a seriousness that unnerved Hermione. She shifted under his heavy gaze and turned to the sink. She began running the water and adding soap over the sink full of dishes—the few that had survived the great fall.

"I was under the impression that we were talking now," Hermione said curtly, taking particular interest in one of the soapy cups. Behind her she could hear Draco moving away from the countertop but she didn't dare look at him. Suddenly, he was right behind her, his soft breath whispering against her exposed neck. His hands grasped her elbows and slowly slid down her forearms until his fingers met hers beneath the soapy water. For a minute, their fingers interlaced.

"Draco," Hermione began suddenly, turning to face him. The urgency and agitation that plagued her tone did nothing to erase the fact that she had rested a moment too long in his arms. "We can't do this here," she said simply, as if that was all there was to it. Draco smirked broadly, laughter dancing in his eyes.

"Well, if you have some place you'd rather go—," he began but Hermione sighed.

"You know what I mean. We can't talk—not about anything real—here. It's too dangerous." Her eyes flicked back to the kitchen door.

"Fine, but I want to talk to you. Let's go out, I know of a restaurant that you would love." Draco said with finality, as if the matter were already decided. Hermione sighed heavily, dropping her face to her hands and rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Draco I'm married, I can't do this anymore." She said, her tone drenched in regret. Draco just stared at her, shaking his head. Finally, he leaned in, grazing the top of her head with his lips.

"You aren't married Hermione," he said flatly. Then, after a moment's pause, "Not yet."


	3. Catching Up

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Chapter Three

"I have a business dinner up in London this evening," Andrew announced at breakfast one morning. Hermione nodded, gently setting a mug full of coffee before him. Andrew took a hearty swig before casting a wary glance at Draco who had just stumbled in a few minutes prior. The recent news however seemed to perk him up immensely.

Although Draco had invited himself to stay in the spare bedroom with Hermione and Andrew ("It really is so hard to find a decent hotel these days and I honestly don't know the area that well"), Draco and Hermione had yet to spend a minute alone. Every time Draco came into the kitchen to help Hermione or went in the living room to talk to her Andrew was right there, rooted at her side like some protective barrier. In some way, it pleased Draco. If Andrew was suddenly so close with Hermione he must have felt threatened. On the other hand though, Draco was greatly annoyed. He had come to speak with Hermione, not some muggle git who could barely cough out an intelligible sentence. He was always saying something about the company where he worked, a particularly large corporation dealing with city affairs. Draco could have cared less as to Andrew spent his days, but the gentleman he had been raised as listened quietly each night, an indifferent smirk resting on his lips.

"Draco," Andrew began, pulling out the chair next to him. Despite the week that they had spent together Andrew was still unnerved by Draco's presence ("It's that dreadful smirk Hermione dear, it's just so unsettling") and pronounced his name awkwardly. "Since all week you've been cooped up here, I thought that maybe you would like to venture out for dinner on the town tonight. Since I won't be here, I thought it would be nice to give Hermione a break from cooking." Andrew suggested. Draco nodded eagerly, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that Hermione held out to him.

"That sounds perfect—it will give Hermione and I time to catch up," Draco said to Andrew's quickly-souring face.

"Oh, well, that would be lovely, but I—I meant for you to go out on your own," Andrew admitted, trying to fix whatever opportunity he had just opened. "I mean, Hermione probably has loads of stuff to do here." He glanced back at Hermione who stood frozen at his side. After a minute she caught her breath.

"Loads of stuff," Hermione echoed numbly to Draco's strong protests.

"Nonsense, Andrew said it himself. You need a break. Plus, I know the perfect restaurant to go to."

"What restaurant could you possibly know of around here? You've been here a week and haven't left the house—it's impossible!" Hermione said skeptically. Draco smirked, gently brushing Hermione's cheek with his hand.

"Oh ye of little faith," he murmured softly before returning to his coffee.

* * *

"In what world is this perfect?" Hermione moaned, glancing around the dilapidated pub. There was a mocking tone in her voice that made Draco smile.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable around your own kind," Draco remarked mischievously, gently leading Hermione to a table in the back. Hermione looked up abruptly, her eyes darting around the room. Suddenly, things began to fall into place. The mysterious hooded figures milling around the bar, the rugged bartender with the glowing eyes and the odd green sparks hovering around a group of travelers. It was so obvious that Hermione was surprised she had not noticed it before.

"You brought me to a _wizard _pub?" Hermione cried incredulously. Draco smiled, pulling out a chair for her. Despite her obvious misgivings, Hermione sat down, slowly removing her coat. Since Draco had refused to give any indication as to where they were going, Hermione had been at a loss for what to wear. Ultimately, she had decided on something simple and clean, a decision that she was inwardly grateful for. She would have been mortified if she had gotten all dressed up for—_this_. Hermione looked around at all of the shady characters, a feeling of general uneasiness brewing in her stomach. "Is this place even legitimate?" She pressed. Then, with a gasp, she turned to Draco, leaning across the table so he could hear her voice, which had dropped considerably. "Are these people deatheaters?" She hissed heatedly.

"Relax Hermione," Draco remarked easily, signaling for someone—presumably the waitress—to come over. Hermione clutched her coat close, suddenly nervous.

"It _is_, isn't it? Of all the low down, inconsiderate—,"

"Relax Granger; do you honestly think that known deatheaters would congregate in a public pub?Or that I would bring you to eat with them? _Especially_ after the war caused so much strife for them?" Hermione blushed, realizing how irrational she sounded.

"I'm sorry; I'm just, not used to this type of—_environment— _anymore." Hermione apologized carefully. Draco shrugged.

"So, you want to tell me why you left this type of—_environment_?" Draco asked, mimicking her tone. Hermione sighed heavily, glancing up from her lap. She had been so involved in taking in the scenes playing out around her that she hadn't even noticed Draco had ordered and the drinks had been brought to the table. Hermione fingered her cup nervously, running her finger around the rim.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," Draco said after a moment but Hermione shook her head, resolving to explain everything to him. She had to tell someone, it had been eating her alive for eight years! Harry and Ron wouldn't understand—she was sure of it. They were amazing people—her best friends—but as odd as it sounded, they just didn't know her well enough to understand how easy it had been for her to leave the wizarding world. Ron had spent his entire life in the wizarding world and had never known anything different. Harry, although he had only been a part of the wizarding community for fourteen years, had had a miserable time in the muggle world. It had been a relief for him to escape it. Hermione on the other hand had grown up in the muggle world and had been having a pretty decent time until she was eleven. She had never resented the muggle world and it had been much easier than she had anticipated going back to it. Ron and Harry wouldn't be able to understand how she could just leave something like that. Draco on the other hand—well, Hermione knew that he may not understand, but he wouldn't discourage her.

"I was scared," Hermione said suddenly, surprising even herself. It was a declaration that she had not intended to make, especially not to Draco or anyone else for that matter. She had been ready—even willing—to admit how she hated seeing her friends and classmates dying around her, how she wasn't as brave as everyone thought, and how all of the little scrapes and skirmishes she had gotten herself into were all just luck. She had never been prepared to admit her fear. Draco frowned, his eyebrows coming to a furrow over his passionate eyes.

"Scared? _You_ Granger? What do you have to be scared about?" He implored, absently sipping from his mug. Hermione shrugged, pushing back a strand of her bushy hair. As requested by Draco when he had walked in on her trying in vain to style the bushy mess, Hermione had left her hair down and untouched, a decision she was now coming to regret. She had forgotten how heavy and stifling it could be, having grown accustomed to pulling it neatly out of her face. Now was one of those times that it was lending heat to her form, increasing her temperature by the minute. Hermione shrugged.

"I just hated all of the fighting. It was so hard watching everyone around me die. I was—I am—scared of…losing people I guess. Losing my friends, losing my parents and all the people I've grown up with." Hermione said deeply, her own face scrunching in concern. Draco reached out, presumably to take her hand, when suddenly he pulled back. Hermione glanced down and saw it; her engagement ring twinkling noticeably. Hermione slid her hand off the table, pulling it into her lap. She wrung her hands nervously, spinning the ring on her finger.

"Were you scared of losing me?" Draco asked quietly, his voice throaty and questioning. Hermione smiled, laughing easily, grateful that the tension that had settled over them had finally been broken.

"Yes Draco, I was _terrified _at losing _you_. That's why I left you know, sheer terror that you would be lost in battle." Hermione deadpanned. Draco laughed, leaning across the table.

"I have something to tell you Granger," he said softly. He was so quiet that Hermione had to lean in too just to hear what he was saying. They were practically nose to nose and Hermione had to wonder if Draco had planned it like that. "I would never be lost in battle. I'm too smart to die." At that Hermione burst out laughing, tossing her head back, completely absorbed in deep belly laughs. Draco watched with amusement. _This is the Hermione I knew_, he thought to himself._ The one who smiles and laughs and doesn't slink in the shadows of a kitchen. _

"Too smart for dying—that's a good one," Hermione admitted, settling back down. She reached out and drank heartily from her mug. The brew was heavy and burned her throat but she didn't care. She was beginning to relax.

"Hey, it worked for you. Okay, another question," Draco announced suddenly, calling for another round. Hermione nodded, giving him silent permission to continue. He smiled. "So, what I want to know is exactly what you see in that Andrew fellow. I mean, compared to me that is," Draco said easily. Hermione bristled at the question, her face becoming suddenly serious and stony. Draco stopped smiling, realizing he may have gone a little bit too far this time. "Listen Hermione, I didn't really mean anything by it—I was just curious." Draco said quickly, but Hermione shook her head.

"Andrew is so safe," she admitted gradually, as if taking time to really think it over in her head. "I don't have to worry about anything. I know he'll come home from work each day. I know that if—_when_—I marry him, I'll be safe and taken care of for life. He just…he doesn't pose a threat."

"Is that what I was?" Draco asked loudly. "Was I 'a threat'?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, _are-you-kidding-me_? He shrugged, genuinely interested.

"Yes." Hermione said simply, sitting back. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she smiled. "You still are." She smiled at his faux-shocked expression.

"I'm hurt! You think I'm a threat?" Draco asked in an overly-dramatic voice. Hermione laughed. Despite what she told herself about her life, she was enjoying this. Real conversation, back and forth, between two friends. It was completely unlike the conversations she had with Andrew; the conversations that consisted of cooking information, data on the city's landfills and street cleaning, sometimes the occasional conversation about a book or movie. It was always the same. Not this, not like with Draco.

"Yes, andI think you still are athreat," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. Draco looked hurt.

"And why is that?" He pressed, obviously taken with the topic. Hermione smiled, the brew beginning to burn in her stomach. Her head was beginning to spin but she suspected that it was more from her choice of company than the drink before her.

"Because of this," Hermione said softly, reaching for his arm. She pushed his sleeve up, revealing the dark mark that still remained, etched into his skin like a poorly done tatoo. Essentially, Hermioneknew, that's what it was.Hermione knew it was useless now but it was the mere symbol that served to keep her on high alert. "Because of this," Hermione continued, showing Draco how shaky her hand had become at the mere touch of his arm. "And because of this," she concluded, leaning heavily across the table. Draco leaned towards her, meeting her halfway. Their lips brushed for a second before Hermione jerked back, her senses coming back in one flood of reason. When she opened her eyes Draco was smiling, the feeling of her lips on his still dancing on his mouth.

"What do you say we head back home?" Draco suggested, standing up. He took Hermione's coat and helped her ease into it. She smiled gratefully, gathering her purse. When she stood something fell from her lap and rolled under the table. With a pang of surprise she realized it was her engagement ring. Sometime during the course of the evening she had taken it off and had never realized. For the past year and a half it had lived on her finger, never budging for an instant and here she had spent an entire evening without it and had never realized. It was almost as if—_no, that's not right_, Hermione chided herself, but it was almost as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Or, her finger rather.


	4. Aftershock

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Chapter four

Hermione rolled over in bed, realizing that the dull pounding was not just the result of a bad dream. Her mouth felt…thick. Sitting up, Hermione rubbed at her eyes, trying to rid them of sleep. She blinked a few times, trying to ignore the ache that permeated her brain. All she wanted to do was to burrow under the covers and sleep until she felt better. What she got was Andrew, bursting loudly through the door. He was holding a large tray, the one she used to serve him breakfast in bed on special occasions.

"Rise and shine sleepyhead!" Andrew sang in a stiff voice. He waddled over to the bed, gently resting the tray in her lap. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up." Hermione glanced down at the food on the tray before her; a banana, a cup of yogurt and a cup of tea. She smiled. _It's the thought that counts_, Hermione told herself, carefully peeling the banana and taking a hearty bite. Andrew waited for her to swallow before looking at her with wide, inquisitive eyes.

"You both came in awful late last night," he remarked conversationally. Hermione nodded, not feeling up to reliving the night before. Vague memories floated through her head; clips of the conversation, shots of the scene around them. It was like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. Hermione sipped her tea, her tongue curling involuntarily at the bitter liquid. "Did you have fun?"

"It was fun, catching up." Hermione murmured softly, her eyes going glassy with the memory. After leaving the pub they had walked around a little, mulling over different parts of their schooling years. They had dissected their relationship, identifying the bad moments and laughing over the pleasant ones. It had been fun; the first bit of fun that Hermione had had in a long time.

"I found this on your nightstand this morning," Andrew said, holding something out to Hermione. She reached out, realizing it was her engagement ring. She had tucked it into her bag when she left the pub and upon returning home she had dug it out, not wanting to lose it in the depths of her purse, but not wanting to put it back on quite yet either. _Apparently I should have thought that one out better_, Hermione considered weakly. Truthfully, it was much too early—and _loud_—to be thinking about anything, much less what she had done with her ring.

"I didn't want to lose it," Hermione said truthfully. She had dug it out of her bag in order to keep it from getting lost after all, so technically it wasn't a lie. Andrew raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"So, why didn't you keep it on?" He pressed. Hermione shrugged, rubbing her head. She leaned in, staring Andrew straight in the eye.

"Andrew, Draco and I share a lot of things from my past, but I guarantee that you have absolutely nothing to worry about—do you understand me?" Hermione asked. Briefly, she thought back to the night before—when she kissed Draco across the table. And then once more when they had gotten home. _Both of those were completely innocent though_, Hermione told herself. _They didn't mean anything!_ Still, she had trouble keeping the images from her head. The feelings too—the feelings of security and warmth and passion and fire and everything else that she hadn't felt since—since the last time she had been with Draco. She couldn't forget all of it, but she could sure as hell try.

"I'm glad to hear that." Andrew said as if he had just closed a business deal. He leaned in, gracing her forehead with a stiff kiss. "I'm going to be at the office again today but I'll be back for lunch." He said curtly, sliding off the side of the bed. Hermione smiled at him, waiting until he had walked out of the room before she slid back under the covers.

Hermione managed to drag herself out of bed three hours later, feeling heavy with exhaustion. It took all her strength to drag herself to the bathroom where she sat down in the shower, let the hot water beat over her tired body, and seriously considered never getting out. Finally though, she stood, washing the last bit of sleep from her system. _What's wrong with me_, Hermione asked herself, recalling her actions of the night before. She had been so—happy. _I'm happy with Andrew though_, Hermione told herself firmly. _I love Andrew. I love Andrew. I am going to marry Andrew. I want to marry Draco_—_oh god where did that come from?_ Hermione was surprised by her silent declaration. She knew that Draco inspired certain feelings in her, but she had never considered marrying him. Even back when they were in school and had picked up with one another she had never considered it. Things were just too complicated to think of making it work long term. They were just two different; things would never work out for them. _Things can't work out for us_; Hermione told herself firmly, _I'm marrying Andrew_. No matter how many times she said it though, she couldn't get rid of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

An hour later Hermione had dressed, done her hair and make up, and felt prepared to join the land of the living once more. She wandered through the house, numbly picking at things, adjusting the photographs ("Why don't they move?" Draco had asked the second day he was there) and sweeping up any bit of dirt she could find. She wasn't just organizing and cleaning out the house; she was organizing and clearing out her head as well. She knew she needed to think; think about what she wanted and from whom, but she couldn't even get the smaller things through her head.

"Need help?" Draco's voice drawled behind her. She turned to face him as he drew his wand out from his pocket. He flicked it temptingly and immediately a pile of books that Hermione had been putting back onto the shelf jumped neatly into their designated spots. Draco poised the wand again and stared at Hermione as if waiting for her to signal that it was okay for him to continue. Instead, she sighed and brushed a nonexistent hair from her face.

"No Draco," she began slowly, unsure of how to phrase her feelings. "I—I think it would be best if you left. You've—I've just gotten really confused." Draco cocked his head to the side as if waiting for her to explain more. When she didn't, he took the opportunity to share his piece.

"Maybe that's an indication that I should go yet." He reasoned, slipping his wand back in his pocket. Hermione shook her head.

"No—I really think you should be going. After last night—well, I think it would be best if you just ducked out." Hermione paused. "Today." Hermione had tried to be tactful in kicking Draco out but he didn't seem to notice.

"Hermione, I'm not going anywhere." Draco said simply, his tone flat and unnerving. Hermione squirmed.

"You don't have a choice Draco. I want you out of the house by dinner. I'll help you find a hotel if you want." Hermione stated, matching Draco's flat tone. Draco shook his head in annoyance, tossing his hands in the air as if Hermione wasn't understanding the obvious.

"Hermione—did last night mean anything to you?" He demanded, anger coating his tone. She crossed her arms, staring at him defensively.

"Nothing happened last night!" She declared loudly. Draco looked at her like she was crazy.

"Nothing happened? Nothing happened? How about you laughed for the first time in—years I'm guessing. How about you smiled more than I've seen in the week or so that I've been here. How about you kissed me, not once but twice?" Draco demanded. Hermione's mind fumbled through the nights events. Had she really laughed? Had she really smiled? _Wait_, Hermione corrected herself, _of course I laughed and smiled, I do it all the time. Don't I?_ Now that she was thinking about it, doubts started to flood her mind. When had been the last time she had genuinely laughed at something Andrew said? She couldn't remember.

"Wait," Hermione began suddenly, realizing what he had said, "_You_ kissed _me_ the second time!" She snapped. Draco shook his head, a smile coming to his smug face.

"I most certainly did not. I distinctly remember you kissing me in the pub and then when we were walking!" He shot back. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Of course I didn't! I kissed you—on _accident_—at the pub and then you took advantage of my vulnerability and _drunkenness_ to kiss me again." Draco stepped towards Hermione, his eyes flashing deviously.

"If I had kissed you, I know you would have remembered it," he teased. Hermione stared at him skeptically.

"Are you implying that my kisses aren't memo—_oomph_!" Hermione began hotly but was cut off suddenly when Draco's mouth came crashing down on hers. His hands flew to her waist and dragged her towards him, pressing her warm body against his own. He could almost feel the violent thumping of her heart against his chest as she struggled for a moment and then melted helplessly in his arms. There was no use resisting—she knew she couldn't bear to push him away. Not again. Hermione's hands gripped Draco's biceps, bracing herself against his firm grasp. They stumbled for a minute, losing their balance momentarily, both unwilling to let eachother go. Finally, the two settled against the couch, leaning heavily into eachother. They stayed like that for ages, soaking in the feel of eachother.

And that was how Andrew found them when he came in an hour later, expecting his lunch.


	5. Facing the Truth

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Chapter Five

Hermione and Draco tore apart as if they had been struck with lightning. They glanced guiltily at one another, Hermione struggling to wipe the kiss from her lips. It was no use; the tingling feeling that had manifested in her body at Draco's touch would not leave. Her breath was ragged and exhilarated, as if this were the greatest adventure she had had in years. Thinking back on the past few years of her life Hermione realized that it was. _What happened to battling evil wizards, fighting dangerous creatures and solving ancient prophesies,_ Hermione wondered vaguely. _How the hell did I manage to score so high on my O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. when I was engaging in that kind of adventure every other night?_ Hermione wondered to herself, realizing suddenly that this probably wasn't the best time to be thinking about her old test scores. Andrew was still frozen in the doorway, staring blankly from Draco to his fiancée.

"W-what's going on here?" He stammered, clutching his suit coat in his arms. He still clutched his briefcase, his knuckles turning white with the pressure he was applying. Hermione stared between the two men, attempting to ease her breathing.

"Um, Draco and I were—catching up," Hermione said quickly, trying to smooth down her hair. In all of their passion, Draco had managed to undo the braid that she had so meticulously styled that morning. Up until that moment, Hermione hadn't seemed to mind. Andrew raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Is that the kind of, _catching up_ (he coughed over the last words) that you two engaged in last night?" Andrew asked quizzically. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she realized what he must think.

"No—no Andrew, we were just talking last night. I swear." Draco stepped up behind Hermione, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. Andrew watched the two in surprise.

"Is this—is this something you expect to continue?" He asked shakily. Hermione stared at him, puzzled.

"No," she said slowly at the same time that Draco murmured "Yes". Andrew regarded the both of them with a pained expression.

"Hermione, I want you to know that I still believe we can work this out." Andrew said and for the first time it dawned on Hermione that she actually was in danger of losing Andrew. She didn't know how she felt about that. He had been so good to her for so long, and she truly had been happy when he had proposed.

"I don't think that's necessary," Draco said shortly in a clipped, formal tone. Andrew looked at him curiously, a thousand thoughts formulating in his head. After a minute he dropped his head.

"I guess that I'll pack my things then," Andrew said softly, turning slowly to leave.

"Andrew no—wait!" Hermione said suddenly, stepping forward. Draco's hand fell from her back, leaving her standing, suspended between the two men. She thought of Draco. The arrogant, lying deatheater with whom she had been quite taken with in her last few years of school, and then some time afterwards. He infuriated her at times, well, most of the time, and he pushed her to the brink with their arguments. Then there was Andrew. She looked at him lovingly. He was so sweet. More importantly, he was safe. He made Hermione feel so secure and loved. He never pushed her or aggravated her. He was so in tuned to her feelings and thoughts that it was like living with her best friend. Plus, he was so _nice_. Hermione sighed, regarding her choice with grim determination. It wasn't fair to either of them to string them alone. She had a choice to make, and she needed to make it—and fast. No matter how much she thought about it—no matter how much her head wanted it—she realized that she knew the answer. She always had.

"Andrew, please don't leave," Hermione repeated. She glanced at Andrew, her eyes glassy. He seemed to sigh in relief. Slowly, Hermione slipped the tiny ring from her finger for the second time in two days. She held it out to Andrew, a pitying look in her eyes. "I'll have my stuff moved out by dinner."

Hermione sighed. Of course it was Draco. It had _always_ been Draco.


End file.
